Monday, September 29, 2008

(This is Part One in a series, to help prepare the Vice-Presidential candidates for Thursday's big debate. The second part will offer advice to Fightin' Joe Biden. That part will mostly consist of telling him to stop shouting.)

1) Don't mention your desire to start war with Russia.

2) No more Bridge to Nowhere - nobody gives a shit anymore.

3) Use adjectives to modify nouns, and not the other way around.

4) Limit use of the word "also" to 5 times per sentence. Also, don't end sentences with "also."

5) Try to think about the words you're about to say before unleashing them upon a baffled audience, and an angry Joe Biden.

6) Unceasingly stare at Biden. Gaze into his soul - or what little, shriveled, coal-black, abortion-loving, freedom-hating bit is left of it.

7) Again, don't mention that Bridge to Nowhere. I can't emphasize this enough.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Wow. I think this particular portion of the interview is astounding for its incoherence. And it needs to be seen - or watched over and over. I am in awe of her interviewing skills. Or lack thereof.

Palin may be perfectly intelligent. There's just no way to tell so far.

In all fairness, there were a few moments during the Katie Couric interview during which Palin seemed mildly lucid. But this whole thing about Russia being a neighbor, and Putin's head over Alaska, and not being able to think of the word "mock" - well, she really out- Bushes Bush. As Jaimi said, even during his first campaign, he at least had the talking points down pretty well. She can't even parrot the lines the campaign should be feeding her.

But also, as a true gentleman, good friend, and diligent co-worker (Dennis) would say, "Who cares? She's hot. McCain 2008!!!"

Thursday, September 25, 2008

The T-Mobile G1, announced Tuesday, will be Google’s first foray into the mobile phone market. It will also be their next step towards world domination.

It has a touch-screen, GPS, a full-size keyboard, and a Google-designed operating system that will enable the phone to surf the internet, locate the nearest Starbucks, and scan the horizon for incoming enemy missiles.

HTC, a Taiwanese electronics manufacturer, will be building the new phones. So the phones will not make or accept calls to or from Chinese area codes. Within China, rather than operate on T-Mobile's Chinese network, the phone will transform into a $179 paper weight.

But seriously, there's no way this thing will present a serious challenge to the mighty iPhone. It doesn't look cool enough. It doesn't have a catchy name. And everyone already has an iPhone, so why would they buy this thing. Lastly, no one uses T-Mobile.

My G1 review, from only seeing a couple pictures and reading one article? The phone is crap. It's big, awkward, and won't make me cooler.

The HTC T1: Pre-cursor to the G1. Tiny keypad is located within cartoon girl's buttons. Pressing the dog's nose turns on speaker phone. Americans' sausage fingers could not operate these functions, leading to the phone's demise.

Who are they kidding? Clearly not as cool as the iPhone. But big keyboard, clear controls, large icons. will make chubby American hands happy.

Sorry Google, you'll have to do a little better than this to get my money. And my respect.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

(I tend to write these letters to my fantasy football QB whenever things are going really bad, or really great. For purposes of motivation, scolding, or congratulations, these letters have served me well. With all the chaos and crisis occurring across the world right now, it's good to know that some things always stay the same - imaginary letters to my fantasy QB affect their actual play in a positive way. It's one of my secrets to fantasy football success - magic. You should try it as well.)

Dear Carson,

Actions speak louder than words. I’m sure Head Coach Marv Lewis shouts it every day at practice, and in the showers. Of course, shouting the phrase sort of diminishes its effectiveness, don’t you think?

Anyway, I also believe it to be true. That’s why I benched you with no warning. Obviously, you know it by now. And you knew it by spending the weekend on my fantasy bench.

For a moment, you may have wondered, “What the hell am I doing here?” But before too long, you figured it out. After all, you’d be the first to admit that you played like absolutely pure, unfiltered shit the first two weeks of the season. It was pathetic.

I mean, 228 yards and 3 interceptions? Combined? For the first two games? In the major professional football league of America?

How couldn’t I not not bench you?

Carson, that question included a triple negative. If you recall from your “Intro to Grammar” class at USC, that means the same thing as “how could I not bench you?”

Enough with the pop quizzes. Here’s the bottom line:

I gave the ball to a young journeyman from the 49ers – J.T. O’Sullivan. He plays in Mike Martz’s high-powered offense. He has a solid running back and several talented receivers. He’s playing with confidence. And he’s having fun.

As of last week, none of the above could be used to describe you, Carson. I needed to shake things up – to let you know that playing for me is all about tough love and no apologies. You can’t succeed without first tasting failure - and numerous other clichés.

But as usual, my plan appears to be working. J.T. had a solid first game for me, throwing for nearly 200 yards with 2 touchdowns and zero interceptions against a weak Detroit Lions defense. But you Carson. You played the defending Super Bowl champions and almost led your team to victory, throwing for nearly 300 yards with 1 TD and no interceptions.

It really looks like you took this wake-up call to heart.

That being said, I have yet to decide who I’m going to start this week. You can’t feel like you’ve earned the nod after only one decent game. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.

Come game time, if you find yourself gazing across the field with your butt planted firmly on that pine wood plank, then you’ll know what my decision’s been. And you’ll need to live with it, and rise above it, and overcome adversity, and yadda yadda yadda.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Not the investment banks like Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs. Not the commercial banks like Wachovia and Washington Mutual.

No sir, Mr. Paulson. Maybe those big guys need it pretty bad, and maybe without a massive a bailout, our entire economy would go to shit within weeks. But the truth is, no one feels very good about offering these greedy, reckless bastards a free pass. They got themselves into this mess, after all. I had nothing to do with it.

At the very least, if this bailout goes through, I want free checks for life from Wachovia, and free investment advisory services from Morgan Stanley Personal Wealth Management.

My other big idea to even the score somewhat:

NO ATM FEES WHATSOEVER FOR 5 YEARS.

Come on big banks. Throw us a bone.

In lieu of that, how about some economic stimulus we could all feel good about. That is to say, I could use that bailout right about now.

I may not have billions of dollars in toxic mortgage-based assets on my balance sheet - and I may not really have a balance sheet of any sort. But I do have student loans, and a car loan, and I really need a new pair of shoes, and there's this diamond-encrusted three-finger ring I've had my eye on for quite some time. It's like $70,000, so I could really use some help.

The American Dream. And it goes with just about any kind of shoes.

And now that the credit markets have all but dried up - like so many raisins in the sun - my hopes of ever owning this beautiful piece of bling are drying up as well.

My other arguments for a government-sponsored bailout of myself:

1) I really need to buy the new iPhone. Old one does not have GPS - and I often get lost on my way to the bank to deposit money, so I just end up spending the money on all sorts of imported crap.

2) My 401k is on track to lose 25% of its value this year. And at that rate, when I retire in maybe 5 or 10 years, I will have to live off of 5 dollars a month - assuming I live to 150 or 160 years of age. This paints a very dire retirement picture, I'm sure you'll agree.

3) My government bailout could serve as a blueprint for others - I'm willing to be the guinea pig. My situation is like that of millions of other Americans. We're just your average retiring-at-40, buying-diamond-encrusted-jewelry, needing-new-iPhones type of folk.

4) TV is not nearly large enough. With football season upon us, you can see how this officially qualifies as a crisis.

You’ve had it with this insane volatility. No more stocks. Dow Jones, Nasdaq, S&P 500. They all blow right about now.

A common tenet of the mainstream investment world states that there’s no such thing as a sure bet, with any sort of worthwhile upside. Of course, you could invest in US Savings bonds and get, like 1% interest – guaranteed by the full faith and trust of the US government. But that stuff’s bullshit. The bonds from my Bar Mitzvah are still maturing – almost 20 years later. Nobody has that kind of time horizon, except maybe for infants.

No, during times like these you need to look outside of the standard investment box.

You want something exciting, but fairly low risk. Something with serious upside, but minimal upfront commitment. Wholesome. American. An investment you can be proud of.

Buy a piece of my future fantasy sports earnings.

Your investment will return a portion of my league winnings in baseball, football, and possibly basketball (although I don’t really follow basketball very closely) in as little as one calendar year. You’ll also have the opportunity to invest in my weekly office football pools for both NFL and NCAA.

And of course, there are my March Madness brackets.

You can own a piece of it all – but only if you’re a shrewd investor.

Here’s how it would work, as I envisioned while brushing my teeth this morning:

1) You give me some money. Let’s say 500 bucks, but it’s ultimately up to you, I guess. I’ll make a note of it on a piece of paper so I don’t forget who gave me what.

2) I enter various fantasy sports leagues throughout the course of the year, using your money to pay my league fees and purchase premium subscriptions to online fantasy sports strategy websites. Additionally, I’ll use the money to enter some football pools and March Madness bracket competitions. I’ll also probably use the money to buy beer, snacks, and maybe a new pair of shoes.

3) Assuming I win most of my leagues, and do paranormally well in the pools and brackets, you will receive your entire investment back, plus a percentage of my winnings – minus a 5% management fee, 12% administrative fee, and 25% fuel surcharge (gas is expensive!!). Also, I will be keeping 40% of the total profits. It’s my brain doing all the winning, after all.

I’ve had some success in the past, wining a few fantasy football leagues, and finishing in the top 10 in a couple of football pools. So the track record is clearly there. Invest with confidence.

If you want in on this chance-of-a-lifetime investment opportunity, hit me back in the comments.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

This post was originally entitled "How I Helped the Eagles Win on Monday Night: A True-to-Life Story."

But the Eagles did not win last night. They lost by 4 points to the Cowboys of Dallas. For a time, however, it looked as if they might achieve victory.

And things really turned around for them when I finally dug my authentic David Akers practice-worn (never washed) jersey from the depths of the closet, and pulled it over my head. I've always known that my indirect actions as a fan - many hundreds of miles away from the stadium or arena - have a direct effect on the outcome of my favorite teams' games.

But this was ridiculous.

After that mega-asshole T.O. scored on a long bomb, and Felix Jones ran a kickoff back for a touchdown, I knew I had to do something. The Eagles were down 14-6 in the first quarter. I had to do something. Oh yeah, my magic jersey. Why don't I put that on?

And so I did.

On the next drive, the Eagles' Asante Samuel intercepted a Tony Romo pass. They then quickly drove down the field - with the help of a totally bullshit pass-intereference call against the Cowboys - and scored a touchdown. On the ensuing kickoff, the 'Boys bobble the ball and recover at their 4-yard line. After a false start, they're at their own 2.

Next snap, Romo bobbles the ball, loses it in the end zone, Eagles recover for another touchdown.

Clearly, me wearing the jersey has turned the tide. It's now 20-14.

After that, the lead changed hands several more times, with sweet play after sweet play. Deep passes, strong runs, and ridiculous escapes by Donovan McNabb were all partly due to me wearing that jersey.

I was confident. And you could see that confidence reflected in my team's faces. Even curmudegeonly coach "Fat" Andy Reid was seen smiling.

How did the Eagles lose? Poor play calling? Fumble by Brian Westbrook in the final minutes of the game? I guess those things may have played a role. But don't forget - I was wearing the jersey the entire second half.

So I'm not really sure what went wrong. The only thing I can figure is that some distant Cowboys fan had a lucky jersey AND a really lucky hat. Or maybe even lucky socks. Or he put a lucky Cowboys sweatshirt on his bulldog. That would be cute. And lucky.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Beer festivals are absolutely fantastic, in theory. The idea - you get to choose from hundreds of different beers and try any and all that you like as many times as you want - from your very own 4 oz. souvenir glass.

Ideally, bathrooms would be plentiful, the selection of beers would be impressive, crowds would be thin and courteous, and the venue would not smell like urine. And finally, that venue would protect you from Mother Nature's fickleness.

The NY Brewfest - at South Street Seaport this past Friday - succeeded on 2 out of the 5 criteria above.

I've only been to one other true beer festival - TAP New York 2007 at Hunter Mountain - and although there weren't any children in strollers at the NY Brewfest, both festivals were similar in many respects:

a) Impossible to get your money's worth - entrance fee for both was around 50 bucks. You'll try your best, by downing as many samples as possible, but you'll never be able to down 200 samples.

b) Meatheads, frat boys, and sorority chicks flock to these events to get "wasted" on "the new Michelob malt liquor" or "that fuckin' awesome Creme Brulee Stout." Seriously though, Southern Tier Brewery had a creme brulee beer that tasted like dessert. It was a little nasty. And the crowd was going buckwild for it.

c) They allow way too many people into the event. It's hard to move around. You have to wait in line for the better beers. The bathrooms are crowded. I'd rather pay a higher entrance fee, and be able to move about more freely.

Specifically, the NY Brewfest had a few more issues worth noting.

First off, there was no food included in the entry price. Spanky's BBQ was there, slinging hot dogs and pulled pork, but you had to pay extra for it. They should have at least offered some pretzels or bread - anything to soak up the alcohol. Without food in their stomachs, meatheads get very drunk, very fast.

Secondly, it rained like a bitch all night long. 80% of the festival was out in open on piers 16 and 17. The beer vendors themselves were under tents, but there was very little covered space. 20% of the festival remained warm and dry under the ominous overpass of the FDR Expressway. This area was totally packed and impossible to walk through. Next time, hold it in the Javits Center. Or the Met.

Third, and on the bright side, there were more than enough portable toilets for everyone. You had to wait in short lines near the crowded part of the festival, but if you walked towards the area with the Polish beer that nobody wanted to drink, then you could quickly find a place to piss.

And finally - and most perplexing - I had one of the most wicked hangover headaches on Saturday after drinking a total of maybe 5 or 6 beers of the course of 3.5 hours. Normally, that amount of beer would not cause such a severe reaction, and in fact, I would barely even feel it the next day. I know my limits. But for some reason, both me and my brewfest playdate Greg felt horrible the following day - as I discovered when we met up to drink more beer and watch football yesterday. We both marveled at the intensity of our hangovers from the Friday festival.

Could it be that they didn't clean the taps and lines from last year? Or maybe they cleaned them too well, and left a good amount of bleach in the dispensing equipment? Did Dogfish Head slip a little antifreeze into their Festina Peche Ale?

I don't know - and now that my liver has processed whatever toxins I consumed on Friday, we'll probably never know the answer. And so the question goes out to all others who joined in this event: Did you feel like shit on Saturday?

Sunday, September 14, 2008

I’m no prognosticator, and would never claim to be one. I simply read stuff on the internet and believe whatever it says.

So, it looks like Lehman Brothers is going under. That’s the latest. And that’s no prediction. It’s pretty much a sure thing, according to The New York Times.

Say goodbye to the Lehman Brothers and their sisters, uncles, cousins, stepchildren, or pets - they’ll all be headed to a nice new sub-development in Lower Default County, known as Bankruptcy Meadow Lane. Features include a putting green, heated pool, fitness center, and on-site entrance to Hell.

What should outsiders think of all this hubbub? What should us non-financialized, regular folk think about this 158 year-old Wall Street institution falling apart?

I think we should continue to watch “Gossip Girl,” and/or Monday Night Football, and proceed with our lives as if nothing bad has happened. I mean, it’s not like Starbucks went out of business. Best Buy is still around. Target seems to be doing fine. And I just checked Amazon and eBay – both still open for business.

So, my advice – don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing. And as I’ve always said in every single situation that warrants any sort of critical thought or analysis: “It all comes out in the wash.”

And let’s just leave it at that. Because it will all come out in the wash eventually, and that’s such a fun way to think about this whole financial crisis.

Sure, it will be a huge-ass bitch of a load - an incredibly soiled load of three-piece suits, caked and crusted with years of greed and bad decisions. Vomit, red wine, beef gravy, and probably even a little urine, all embedded deep within the fine Italian wool fibers.

And whatever’s kept and rehabilitated, will take years of scrubbing, and soaking before even being considered by consignment shops. Thousands of quarters will be wasted on hundreds and hundreds of automatic wash cycles.

God forbid one of the washing machines eats a quarter - or if they’re using one of those Smart cards, that the little chip doesn’t wear out, and give an error every time it’s inserted into the slot. That’s happened to me when I had like 18 bucks left on the card. It totally blows, because you know the customer service of the company that makes the cards is going to tell you to call the manager of the facility, who’s going to tell you to contact the washing machine manufacturer. And none of them can authorize any sort of refund.

Bullshit.

But of course, this is all just a stupid analogy for the current financial crisis. These guys from Merrill, and Lehman, and Bear Stearns, don’t actually walk around in suits encrusted with old food and bodily fluids - at least not most of them. However, they have left quite an awful mess to clean up.

I, for one, am going to let tomorrow night's Cowboys-Eagles game wash away all the worry. It promises to be a real barn burner. Or bank burner, as the case may be.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Not that you need or want any political commentary from me, but I just had to address this issue - the now famous "lipstick on a pig" imaginary controversy.

For the record, it's obvious that Barack Obama was not referring to Governor Palin when he said "you can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig." I mean, Palin's not even fat. She's less piglike than 95% of all politicians. Although she's somewhat piggish when it comes to consuming federal earmarks, from what I've read on the internet. Okay, fine. So maybe he was referring to her. But in a much less offensive fiscal sense, rather than the physical sense.

In any case, the phrase still got him into a lot of trouble.

I'm here to help Barack avoid the same mistake in the future. Lipstick analogies are great - we all know this. So it's difficult, if not impossible, to avoid using them on the campaign trail.

Thusly,

Other lipstick analogies that Obama could have used in reference to McCain-Palin's policies (or anything else, for that matter):

- You can put lipstick on a dog, but it will probably just try to eat the lipstick.

- You can put lipstick in the freezer, but due to the high water content, it will expand and crack it's casing - much like current day Russia.

- To put lipstick on a hamster can be accomplished, but it requires a very specialized, and very tiny tool.

- If you put lipstick on a shark, you're liable to lose your hand.

- Even if John McCain dressed in women's clothes, he'd still require a boatload of lipstick to look even halfway like my grandmother.

- The Adminstration's botching of the Iraq war: it's like one eye watching George Bush put lipstick on a snake, and the other eye watching a monkey try to fuck a football. Totally mindbending.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

(So I like to write imaginary letters to my fantasy football quarterbacks. You got a problem with that? Last year, I wrote a few to Drew Brees, and I feel like it helped him right his ship when he drifted off course at the beginning of the season. With a new season fresh out of the oven, I decided to give this a go again. I know it's borderline pathological, but I still think I can help my fantasy players with a little encouragement, via letters that I don't actually send to them and they will never actually read.)

Dear Carson,

You’ve got some big shoes to fill. Not big in a literal sense, as your predecessor has relatively small feet and hands for a quarterback. But my quarterback for the previous 2 years – Sir Drew Brees, of the New Orleans Saints (perhaps you’ve heard of him, or have met him at quarterback conferences?) – was a veritable football pitching machine.

It was like the coach just kept feeding balls into a slot on his back, one at a time, and those balls would shoot from his shoulder at the press of a button. More than 60% of the time, they’d find their intended target.

So yes, there’s some pressure on you to perform this year.

You may be worried that after your dismal performance on Sunday, against the Ravens of Baltimore, that I’d be ready to flip my lid and really lay into you. You might fear that I’ll “go off the deep end,” or “throw a hissy fit,” or even “burn down your mansion.” Well, Carson, my dear friend, you have nothing to worry about. I’m as cool as a cucumber.

Sure, I was disappointed in your performance. I mean, 10 for 25 for 99 yards and an interception? Come on. That just sucks ass. There’s just no way around it. But looking on the bright side, you were playing against a very tough defense. And you’re not quite in sync with your receivers yet, due to preseason injuries that limited their practice time.

Take a deep breath, Carson, and put this week behind you. I know I have. I’ve got you starting again this week, because I have confidence in you. You’re the best I’ve got. I spent a 4th round draft pick on you. Don’t make me regret that.

But no pressure. Because a certain someone who – a former fantasy QB of mine - started out awfully slow last year. I’ll give you a hint – I mentioned his name in the first paragraph of this letter. If you don’t know whom I’m talking about, then please pack your fantasy belongings in a fantasy box, and get the hell out of my fantasy locker room.

Anyway, it’s a long season. I understand that. So you have plenty of time to redeem yourself. But at the same time, you only have 15 regular season games remaining. And I think the playoffs start in Week 14. So that’s only more 13 weeks.

Shit.

Upon further consideration, time is of the essence. Please do not dilly-dally. And because Chad Ocho Cince, nee Johnson is also on my team, please throw as many passes as possible to him. He’s a crazy son of a bitch, I know. But please do your best to keep him happy. The last thing I need is for him to get upset. He’s a real prima donna, as you well know.

Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work now. Please figure out what went so terribly wrong last week, and fix it. I’ll be watching. From above. Like God.

You wouldn’t want to let God down, now would you?

I didn’t think so.

Yours truly, always, and forever,

Or until you have a couple more terrible games and I have to replace you,

Monday, September 08, 2008

The strategic brilliance of this crime is incalculable. The perpetrator's intellect is truly enormous. Here's the full text of the AP report:

"FRESNO, California (AP) -- Authorities say they've arrested a man who broke into the home of two California farmworkers, stole money, rubbed one with spices and whacked the other with a sausage before fleeing.

Fresno County sheriff's Lt. Ian Burrimond says 22-year-old Antonio Vasquez was found hiding in a field wearing only a T-shirt, boxers and socks after the Saturday morning attack.

He says deputies arrested Vasquez after finding a wallet containing his ID in the ransacked house.

The farmworkers told deputies the suspect woke them Saturday morning by rubbing spices on one of them and smacking the other with an 8-inch sausage.

Burrimond says money allegedly stolen was recovered."

Weapon of mass destruction.Implement of criminal genius.

From time to time, we bear witness to an act of such sheer genius and cunning that it actually makes us better and smarter as a species. The old adage, "standing on the shoulders of giants," leaps to mind, and is perfectly appropriate in this case. We learn a great deal from the mental giants of the past and present - and we hand this learning to our children, and our friends' children, and our dogs.

This is how the atomic bomb was developed from German theories, French experiments, and Jewish brainpower; how the jet aeroplane came to be from Newton's laws, Daimler's ingenuity, and Tennessee whiskey; how the iPhone was borne from pure silicon, forged aluminum, and a vision seen by Steve Jobs while whacked out of his mind on crack and PCP.

You may be thinking that this crime sounds tremendously stupid. But wait, there's more. Further information about the crime is difficult to locate, but it does appear that the weapon (sausage) was actually eaten by a dog after the attacker fled.

And this is where the criminal's true evil genius shines.

Although this crime sounds relatively mild, I strongly believe that the authorities should consider putting this man away for life. If allowed to re-enter society, he may use his superior intelligence to develop a salami gun, or beef jerky dagger. The murder weapon could be dissolving in a dog's stomach by the time the authorities arrive.

How will forensic science catch up? When will they be able to fingerprint dog vomit? We need federal funding for research and development, and we need it now. Please, please, please write your congressman today regarding dog vomit fingerprinting technology (DVFT).

Apparently, some wanna-be cowboy is trying to steal my trademark “Original Maverick” title. That poseur, my friends, is named John McCain.

Well, I’m here to set the record straight. I’m the original internet bloggin’ maverick. At least around these parts I am. And by “these parts” I mean my apartment - or at least the corner of my apartment where my computer resides.

A dictionary defines the word “maverick” as follows:

Mav-e-rick – noun

1. an unbranded calf, cow or steer

2. a lone dissenter, as an artist or politician who takes an independent stand apart from his or her associates.

3. The Mill

I fit into at least 2 of the 3 definitions above.

Additionally, as a true, original internet maverick:

- I don’t play by the rules.

- I don’t spell chekk. Nor_ do I check! My ^ punctu@tion;

- I click on my own ads, thereby sticking it to the man (aka Google), and inadvertently sticking it to the advertisers. Sorry guys!!

- I write what I want, when I feel like it. And when Jaimi says it’s okay.

- I don’t give no damn about nobody, no how, nowhere, no time.

- Goddamnit.

- I interpret the Constitution any way I goddamn feel. My Constitution has 29 Amendments - 2 more than the non-maverick Constitution. The 28th Amendment grants me the authority to walk around outside in my underwear (classic maverick behavior). And the 29th Amendment prohibits the federal government and states from infringing upon my right to eat cookies in bed.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Governor Sarah Palin’s speech at the Republican National Convention is only minutes away. So I’ll try to keep this brief. I know we’re all breathlessly awaiting this hot mom’s first fully-scripted and thoroughly vetted words on the national stage.

And she better totally nail it, or our RSS readers will be absolutely inundated with smart-ass comments from arrogant liberal bloggers, and lame-ass excuses from conservative apologists.

Let's be honest though - if you actually use an RSS reader, you probably enjoy reading as much of this bullshit as possible. I know I do.

But back to the original matter at hand, as alluded to in the title of this post.

The issue of choice is extraordinarily important. It’s an integral part of our nation’s political debate. It helps form the border of the proverbial no-fly zone between Democrats and Republicans. Who does have the right to tell a woman how to choose?

Maybe you think Keith Olbermann’s a douchebag, but is only eclipsed in douchiness by Joe Scarborough. At the same time, you have a serious man-crush on Chris Matthews. Shit, they’re all on MSNBC. What’s a boy to do?

Or a girl, for that matter?

See, it’s not about male or female, black or white, Obama or McCain. It’s more about Jim Lehrer and David Brooks vs. Shepard Smith and Bill O’Reilly.

Sugar, glycerin, pectin, natural and artificial flavoring, high fructose corn syrup. These are just a few of the wholesome ingredients found in Gummi Bear flesh.

For years, Gummi Bears were only available in bags of bite-size individuals - difficult to precisely decapitate with your teeth.

Well, no more struggling to get that head off without damaging the rest of the gummi body. Introducing the largest Gummi Bear in the world - and it's legally available for human consumption in the United States right here. All you need is a sharp machete and some serious leverage to separate head from body.

This mad genius genetically re-engineered the Gummi Bear to create these colorful monstrosities. They were each carried to term and birthed by a real bear.

At nearly 7 pounds, and almost 1,000 times the size of it's pygmy brethren, this bear means business. I don't have the exact statistics handy, but I estimate that this behemoth packs about 9,000 calories - perfect for ultra-marathon runners, or those expecting to spend long stints on desert islands.

Why create such a large Gummi Bear?

Not sure, really. It seems like the thing would harden and crumble to dust before you even ate the head.

Anyway, I'd be fascinated to hear about what it's like to eat one of these things - preferably in one sitting.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Big news this past week: John McCain chose a mother of five from Alaska for his running mate - Sarah Palin. She enjoys hunting, fishing, and snowmobiling. Oh, and also she's the governor of the whole state. I guess that's an important personal detail.

In relative order of importance: she hunts, fishes, snowmobiles, and governs the shit out of the Alaskan wilderness.

We don’t know much else about her, but at the very least, she has a strong stomach and knows how to break down a large mammal.

Naturally, this leads to the question - what’s most important in choosing a Vice-presidential candidate? I tried to answer this question before, in my detailed analysis of how to choose a running mate.

But after McCain chose Governor Palin, all bets are off. My previous analysis was proven completely and utterly moot. All that work spent analyzing, and researching, and interviewing the neighbor's dog. At least 15 minutes of total work - slightly less than Sarah Palin's foreign policy experience, but slightly more than Joe Biden's executive governance experience.

So which is it? Foreign policy experience? Executive experience? Charisma? Knife skills? Or all of the above?

Well, let's assume all these things count for something. And so I've been training, and practicing, and reading up, and learning stuff on the internet – so that I may make the case for why I could just as easily be the VP candidate as any first-term Alaskan governor, or 6 term U.S. Senator.

- Can run an 8-minute mile while talking on a cell phone.

- Insane knowledge of World War II, gleaned from History Channel. Self-professed expert in WW II military fashion styles across Allies and Axis powers.

- Balances own checkbook, and is CEO, CFO, COO, and Chairman of I Am The Mill, LLC - aka, owner and supreme master of this website.

- Watches The Dog Whisperer, so knows how to train dogs and their owners. FYI, Putin has, like, 10 dogs. Ahmadinejad has a bunch too.

About Me

"I Am The Mill" has been conceived by, and written from, the brain of Scott Rathmill. "The Mill" is Scott's nickname. Or at least he'd like to believe that he's cool enough to have a nickname of some sort. And the name "Scotty Potty" has grown tiresome over the years. He tries to get various people to call him "The Mill" or just "Mill", and hopes to someday have strangers on the street shouting "Hey Mill, what's up?" Or "Yo Mill, your blog blows!" Really, any sort of recognition would do.